


She-Wolves of London

by Freya_Ishtar



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, EWE, F/F, F/M, Femslash, Gen, Multi, Possessive Behavior, Romance, Smut, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-13
Updated: 2019-01-03
Packaged: 2019-03-30 18:59:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13957935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Freya_Ishtar/pseuds/Freya_Ishtar
Summary: After the War, Hermione stumbles across gravely-wounded Lavender. Though searching for the one who bit them, both, Lavender attaches to Hermione, who—in turn—becomes protective of her. Relying on one another, & with their feral instincts sharpening by the day, the witches set out to collect the males of their pack, before the first full moon of their new existence rises. *Poly-fic*





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> 1) This is technically both an HP fanfiction, and a fanfiction of my own novelette collection, Nights of Blood and Fire. NoBaF is actually a original fiction revision of my fic Werewolves of London, of which She-Wolves is an AU Spin-off.
> 
> 2) This story will contain themes such as, and not limited to, possessive behavior, violence, blood-letting, smut, psychological trauma.
> 
> 3) For those who read Werewolves of London before it was pulled: While background circumstances and some character dynamics are the same, the events in WoL have no bearing on the story that will unfold in She-Wolves.
> 
> *Orias Mulciber is my take on the canon character of Mulciber.
> 
> Fancasting: Jason Momoa as Fenrir Greyback, Chris Hemsworth as Thorfinn Rowle, Brock O'Hurn as Orias Mulciber, Stephanie Bertram Rose as Lavender Brown.
> 
> DISCLAIMER: I do not own Harry Potter, or any affiliated characters, and make no profit from this story.

 

**Chapter One**

Hermione scratched at the crescent-shaped wound on her side before she could stop herself. She slapped her fingers away with her other hand and shook her head.

Chestnut eyes wide, she glanced about the Forbidden Forest as she straightened her shirt. The last thing she needed would be for her thoughtless fidgeting to expose her still-healing bite mark to any of the other witches and wizards helping scour the woods for survivors—or worse, bodies.

In the days following the Battle of Hogwarts, a number of combatants on both sides were still unaccounted for. She was more than aware that Fenrir Greyback was on that list. Hell, that was _why_  she volunteered to help. She thought it only by the grace of the Powers That Be that she'd not changed with the full moon that immediately followed the Battle—perhaps the bite was  _too_  fresh to affect her body, just yet.

Not that skulking through the woods, searching for a werewolf just a day after the full moon had passed seemed particularly smart, but in a way, she kept hoping she'd trip over him. Not . . . alive, not dead, but in some terribly wounded limbo, so she might have the pleasure of snuffing out his life . . . .

Hermione set her jaw, huffing out a breath as she once more shook her head at herself. Okay, so it was probably safe to say her  _condition_  was not bringing out the best in her.

A scent tickled across her nose, then. She shot her hand up to face in a shielding motion at the way it felt like it singed her nostrils. Not even a smell, really, more of a sensation . . . it sent images of blood an fire through her head, and she just  _knew_.

Someone close by shared her condition. And she needed to find them before anyone else did, in case they were anyone of a mind to out her as a soon-to-be werewolf.

She turned her head, trying to catch the direction.  _. . . There . . . ._ With another glance around, assuring herself no one was near enough to notice if her actions seemed suspicious, she took off.

Hermione tried not to worry that she was entering a thicker bit of forest. After all, despite that she bore this bite mark for just shy of a week, she could already tell she felt a bit more at home among this magic-tinged swath of nature than she had before the War. Nothing here was frightening to her, anymore.

But still, she held her wand at the ready as she approached the dense cluster of foliage nearly concealed by a tight, if slightly offset, ring of trees.

The closer she got—creeping forward on silent footfalls—the more certain she was that she could hear the person breathing. Shallow and shuddering. Yet, it was an oddly steady sound, as though, rather than struggling to breathe, this was simply  _how_  they breathed.

They were wounded . . . .

Hermione ducked into the ring of trees to kneel before the foliage. She was careful as she reached out, pushing some of the leaves back with one hand, while keeping her wand raised with the other.

She nearly dropped the weapon as she met a pair of familiar blue eyes. Impossibly wide, those eyes seemed nearly incapable of blinking as the lips of this face she recognized trembled.

Feeling herself fall into a sitting position as her wand hand dropped, she could only stare at the witch she'd discovered.

The blonde girl turned her heard, wincing at the motion, as she looked around before she asked, "You're Her—You're Hermione, aren't you?"

"What? Yes, of course, I am! Lavender, what—?" She cut herself off as she remembered, she'd been the one to blast Fenrir away from her, in mid-act of mauling Lavender Brown's throat.

She'd just seen the other witch's pained expression as she moved her head. Lowering her gaze to the blonde's neck—obscured by a messy, tangled spill of locks—she reached out a tentative hand.

Lavender did not move as Hermione pushed her hair out of the way. At the sight of the ruined skin, marred beyond Hermione's own—comparatively neat—bite mark, yet still clearly healing, Hermione shuddered.

Had  _she_  done this? Was this jagged work her fault?

Lavender surprised her, then, reaching to clasp Hermione's hand between both of her own. "I don't remember—don't remember what happened, but don't blame yourself, please—please? It wasn't your—your fault, he was always going to do this to me."

Hermione's brow furrowed, tears welling in her eyes as she listened to the other woman's rasping voice. But . . .  _something_  was her fault, that was for certain. Fenrir had bitten her—unlike Hermione, he'd attacked Lavender with the intent to  _kill_  her.

Lavender's very presence felt different; Hermione could tell something had changed. Her memory loss and her speech impediment . . . .

Hermione let out a shuddering breath of her own, now. "But it is! If I hadn't ripped him away, if I'd done  _anything_  else to get him away from you, maybe you wouldn't be like this!" It was painfully clear the girl had suffered some oxygen loss to the brain . . . perhaps she'd even died for a few moments, before the magic of the lycanthropy curse brought her back.

That made Lavender  _her_  responsibility, didn't it?

"What do you remember?"

Lavender darted her gaze about, seeming confused. "I remember—remember you, and  _him_." She paused to chew her bottom lip as she tried to think harder. "Nothing. I'm—I'm sleepy, now."

Hermione arched a brow. That was certainly a non-sequitur line of thought. Though, she was relatively sure by  _him_ , Lavender meant Fenrir.

"I've got to get you out of here," Hermione said with a shake of her head.

Lavender's very weary eyes brightened a little at that. "Okay. He's not here—not here, anyway."

Hermione stopped, mid-motion, as she crawled into the swath of foliage. Continuing on to sit beside Lavender, she looped an arm around the other witch's shoulders. If she was going to Apparate them away from the Forest so she could find someplace to hide Lavender for a while, she didn't want anyone to see her do it.

After all, if they found Lavender, they'd have to examine her. If they examined her, they'd learn she was bitten.  _No_. In her condition, she might not survive the rough, careless treatment known werewolves received. Hermione couldn't let that happen to her.

"You mean Fenrir?" Hermione asked to clarify. "You were searching for him?"

Lavender nodded . . . then rolled her eyes at herself as it made her wince, again.

"Why?"

"He's the one who bit—who bit us, and I'll not be able to survive on my own long."

Biting her lip, Hermione held in a sorrowful sigh. "You're looking for a protector."

It appeared as though Lavender started to nod, before she stopped herself and simply said, "Yes."

"Well . . . ." Hermione sniffled and gave a determined nod. "Now you've got one. Hang on, I'm going to try to move us a little at a time, so I don't make your injuries worse, okay?"

Slipping her arms around Hermione without a word of question, Lavender ducked her head down against the other witch's shoulder. Hermione didn't know if it hurt, or simply confused her, that Lavender could barely remember anything, yet trusted her so completely, already.

* * *

That had been two weeks ago.

They still had a long, looming fortnight to go before the full moon. While Hermione had a plan in place for how to prevent the two of them from hurting anyone while they were going through their first shift,  _they_  were not the problem.

Hermione learned, rather fast, that though Lavender had lost her memory—and, indeed, any trace of her old, shallow self—she had developed a rather peculiar sixth sense. Hermione wasn't one much for divination of any sort, but Lavender's predictions could prove to be quite uncanny.

Of course, when they were so cryptic Hermione couldn't make heads or tails of the other witch's message, her frustration with the entire thing had her holding her tongue so she didn't lash out and call rubbish on the matter.

She stood at the window of their room in the rundown little Muggle motel they were holed up in. Yes, they could've gotten a room at the Leaky Cauldron, right across the bloody street, but if anyone glimpsed Lavender there, it would be chaos, as she was still considered missing, and Hermione'd learned since that she'd not been the only one to see Fenrir sink his teeth into her during the Battle.

But . . . this was where they  _needed_ to be. Lavender insisted that Fenrir was about, somewhere not too far. And that, aside from them, he'd bitten two others during the chaos. Two others, she cautioned, who might not be as careful as the witches planned to be when the moon rose.

Hermione sighed as Lavender stepped up to lean against her, slipping her arms around Hermione's waist to hug her from behind. "I don't—I don't want you to go."

Her shoulders slumping, Hermione frowned. "I've no choice. Look, for the  _purest_ pure-blood families, there'd have been no bigger blackspot on their line than a werewolf—"aside from birthing a Squib, or marrying a Muggle-born, of course, but that was beside the point she needed to make—"If I can't get wolfsbane from the apothecary, then Knockturn Alley might be our only chance. It's not exactly a thing you can casually buy alongside your child's school supplies, or something. I'd bet every galleon in the Malfoys' vault that there _must've_  been a place or two there that whipped up potions of it."

As Fenrir was  _still_ unaccounted for, what with his reputation for being the most savage werewolf in all of Wizarding Britain, the newly-staffed Ministry had ordered a lockdown on the supply of wolfsbane. The hope was that anyone attempting to purchase the flowers without proper authorization might lead them to bite victims in hiding, or even Fenrir, himself.

Hermione and Lavender were practically climbing the walls from cabin fever, but they could feel themselves getting more short-fused, more . . . unpredictable, and thus  _dangerous_ , with every day that passed. If they didn't dose themselves to take the edge off, they might as well go and start living in the woods,  _now._

Their only real shot, as she had no idea where she might find it growing wild that the Ministry would not be monitoring, was to scour the seedy little shops on Knockturn Alley. The place had been abandoned, entirely, since the War's end. No one set foot there for fear of being linked to the fallen Dark Lord.

"Have you seen something? Will I be in danger if I go?"

When Hermione turned her head to meet Lavender's gaze over her shoulder, she saw a frown she already recognized. The blonde  _wanted_  to lie. She never managed—this new version of Lavender Brown didn't like lying—but it warmed Hermione that she was so strongly considering it just to keep her close.

Turning in the other witch's arms, Hermione ducked her head, brushing soft kisses along the scars on Lavender's throat—her typical parting gesture.

"I don't think anything—anything dangerous to you is waiting, but . . . ." Lavender only frowned harder, trying to find a way to explain. The others were out there, close, she could feel it, but Hermione was right, they needed the wolfsbane.

_Something_  waited, but without a way to explain herself clearly, she knew Hermione would stubbornly not wait around to listen, and she could not go with her, either. Hermione would have her hands full with her search, and Lavender was wandless. If anything went wrong, it would fall to Hermione to protect them both without revealing what they were becoming by falling to their feral sides.

Her small shoulders slumping, Lavender cupped Hermione's face in her hands and kissed her. "Be care—be careful."

Hermione snickered. "Always. You get some rest while I'm gone,  _please_?"

Lavender  _hmphed_ , but pulled away and retreated to the bed. Just as she worried for Hermione's safety, she knew Hermione worried that not all of the damage done to Lavender's body had healed, yet. She fretted constantly about whether Lavender was sleeping enough, if she was eating well. God forbid a drop of water got on her forehead, the other witch panicked about cold sweats.

Her heart  _was_  in the right place, though. Lavender couldn't let strangely-worded turns of phrase like that linger in her mind too long, though, or she started imagining strange things, like people having their heart in the  _wrong_  place—like, perhaps in their foot, or something.

"Stubborn—stubborn thing," she muttered, though her tone was warm, and she was aware Hermione heard her perfectly, even as the brunette slipped from the room.

* * *

Knockturn Alley had always been a horribly dark and ugly place—twisted and gnarled, and shadows that seemed to warp and shift unnaturally cast everywhere. It was worse at night.

And it was _certainly_  worse after a mere two and a half weeks of disuse.

Hermione was quickly coming to her wit's end with this search. She'd been through at least five different shops that seemed ideal suspects to house a secret stock of wolfsbane potion.

Just as she was about to give up, she found something at shop number six . . . . Not the potion, but a few near-dead potted plants of wolfsbane in a backroom, the locked door of which was no match for Hermione Granger's  _Alohomora._ She'd just have to make the bloody potion, herself.

Shrinking the plants and stashing them in her trusty beaded bag, she just as quickly hurried through the shop to slip back out into Knockturn Alley. As she paused to brush off her hands against the thighs of her jeans, she caught that strange, not-quite scent of blood and fire.

Lifting her head in the direction from which she felt it, she noticed a _tall_ blonde figure in dark robes disappear further down the alley.

Hermione's heart hammered in her chest. "Thorfinn?"

Before she could even stop herself, she was taking off after him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

Skittering to a halt, she found herself in a small, woefully misplaced—but then, what was new for anything in Knockturn Alley, really?—yard. The sorry dead lawn, and deader flowers, were tucked between two shopfronts so that the space was not visible from anywhere but directly at the entrance.

As she caught her breath, she flicked her gaze about the sad little garden area. Made it easy for her to forget it was spring, right now.

There were no sounds . . . . She didn't see anyone, now, but she'd been _so_  sure. And this entire area smelled of that blood and fire tinge, making it impossible for her to tell where he might've gone.

She knew she saw him come this way. It was a dead end, though. Perhaps there was a hidden door somewhere?

Hermione took a step, that was when she heard it. A deep exhalation behind her—as though someone had been holding their breath.

She whirled on her heel, lifting her gaze to accommodate Thorfinn Rowle's well-remembered height, her mouth open to loose an admonishment. What to yell at him for, first? Leading her on this idiotic little chase, or being stupid enough to get himself bitten by a werewolf when he was already on the run from Aurors scooping up Death Eaters who'd survived the War—never mind that she only knew he was bitten because she was, too.

But, rather than meeting familiar blue eyes, she found herself staring up at a dark-blonde beard.  _Taller than Thorfinn . . . ?_ Whatever her words might've been they died before even reaching her lips as she tipped her head back further, still.

Blue eyes, as well, but brighter than Thorfinn's. She felt her jaw fall open as she held the gaze of this . . . mountainous wizard who resembled a modern-day Viking every bit as much as Thorfinn Rowle did.

But she hadn't the foggiest notion who he was.

A smirk curved his lips and he took a slow, measured step toward her. He tipped his head side-to-side as he watched her watching him, as though assessing her.

His nostrils flared as he inhaled sharply—Hermione was  _unbelievably_  aware of his chest expanding with that breath in her periphery—before that smirk spread into a wicked grin. "Hello there, little witch. Don't you just smell like the cure for what ails me?"

She was completely cognizant of the fact that she'd not backpedaled as he'd moved forward. No, no, all she seemed aware of was the way the long, haphazard waves of his blonde hair hung about his broad shoulders, and how she . . . .

Hermione swallowed hard, trying to deny it, but dear  _Lord_ she was fighting a spontaneous instinct to throw herself on this man and climb him like a tree!

Again, his nostrils flared, but his smile faltered, giving way to a much more serious expression. "And now, you smell even better."

She blinked rapidly a few times before realizing—of course he knew what had just run through her mind, they were both soon-to-be-werewolves, he caught the scent of it coming off her. Oh, how terribly embarrassing, but then, she had to think a similar scent must be coming from him, because it seemed she'd never been more drawn to anything in her life than she was to this man she'd never even met!

The absurdity of the entire thing did nothing to help her talk sense into herself . . . . And certainly  _nothing_  to make her stop him as he brought his mouth crashing down on hers in a brutal, hungry kiss.

She returned his kiss, just as eager, as she wrapped her arms around his neck. It all seemed to happen in a blur, as the next thing she knew, he was sitting on the ground with her straddling his lap. Had she pushed him? Had he pulled her? It didn't really matter, did it? All she could focus on was the sensation of caressing his plunging tongue with her own as he slipped his arms around her hips and pulled her tighter against him.

He broke the kiss and she tipped her head back. Taking the invitation, he raked at her throat with the very edge of his teeth, lapping at the soft skin with the tip of his tongue as he went.

Hermione rumbled out a small sound of satisfaction as she gripped her fingers tighter in his hair, guiding his mouth a bit lower. Again, he followed what she wanted, nibbling at her collarbone.

"So," she started, fighting to catch her breath and shuddering in his arms as she moved in his lap, rocking her pelvis against his—she let out an airy giggle at the way it forced a purring-growl out of him. "Who are you, anyway?"

He pulled back only the tiniest bit, just enough to answer with his lips brushing her skin as he spoke. "Orias Mulciber."

"I know that name," she said, her words nearly lost in a moan as he cupped her arse with splayed fingers, working her over him harder. "You—you're a Death Eater."

Orias snickered, his warm breath against her skin tickling her. "Not going to tell me a witch who skulks about Knockturn Alley at night is scared of some big, bad Death Eater, are you?"

"No, but then . . . ." She bit her lip, holding in a second moan as she shivered. God, was he hard? As though understanding her thought, he pushed his hips forward, against her rocking motions, just then.  _That would be a yes_. "Never met one as big as you, before."

She didn't even realize the pun until he snickered again, nodding as he dipped his head to snap his teeth on her nipple through her shirt, drawing a delighted gasp from her.

"Oh, I'm rather sure you'll find out just how big I really am soon enough, little witch."

"I'm never . . . I don't normally do this sort of thing."

Orias lifted his head, watching her dazed, blissful expression. "Never gave me your name. But . . . you're Hermione Granger, aren't you?"

"My fame proceeds me, I see," she said with a laugh, even as she dropped her head down against his shoulder. This was ridiculous! How were they possibly having a conversation at a time like this?

How were they possibly having a time like  _this_  when they'd only met five minutes ago?!

"You were bitten by Fenrir, weren't you?"

"Mm-hmm," he breathed the sound as he pulled her harder against him, still.

Hermione thought he was determined to get her off—and she had to say she liked his persistence in the matter—because as her muscles started to tense, he shifted his hold on her, just enough to take the burden of movement away from her. "At—at the Battle of Hogwarts?"

He nipped at her throat—she was  _so_ going to pay for making him this hard once her got her someplace he could tear off her clothes. "Yes, you?"

"Same . . . ." She sank her teeth into his shoulder through the fabric of his robes then, stifling a scream as she came.

"There we go," he said, his tone soothing as he worked her harder over him, feeding into her need.  _God_ , he even liked the press of her teeth against his skin—if only his bloody robes weren't in the way.

He waited until a violent shudder wracked her, until she started moving against him, again, before he slowed the rocking. Orias returned control to her, letting her ease to a halt on her own after the last aftershock of her orgasm had subsided.

Hermione forced a gulp down her throat, unable to fight the gesture as he turned her to cradle her in his lap as she caught her breath. "So is it . . . actually me you want, or the wolfsbane I nicked from that shop?"

Orias nodded thoughtfully as he listened to her breathing, and the slowly steadying beat of her heart. "It  _was_  the wolfsbane, but now I'd have to honestly say both. With the wolfsbane lagging to second place."

"Do you even know how to make a wolfbane potion? Seeing as we've only got two weeks before we can't touch the stuff, anymore, this would be a hell of a time to try to learn."

"My potions lessons are a bit rusty, but I think the better bet would be for me to assist you."

She lifted her head from his chest to meet his gaze.

He lifted his brows as he stared down at her. "Your fame proceeds you. Apparently, the word  _bookworm_ has your photograph next to it in the dictionary."

Hermione laughed. "Well, then you certainly are lucky you found me, aren't you?"

That smirk returned. "I suppose I am."

For a few heartbeats, they only looked at one another in the sparse illumination of the night sky over Knockturn Alley.

Lavender had said there were two more Fenrir had bitten. "You're one of the others, then," she said, her tone offhanded. "She said there were two, so that's half the battle."

"Who said? And half what battle? What are you talking about?"

"Well, we are planning to make Fenrir pay for doing this to us, but we need the whole pack, if you will—bloody hell, I studied werewolves, and I never came across talk of modern werewolves having packs, but I can't imagine any other reason he bit so many of us at once. Not when he risked getting pinched and sent to Azkaban, anyway."

Lifting her in his arms, princess-carry style, he stood and then set her on her feet. "So, your plan is to go get revenge on Greyback?"

"After we find the last one of us, yes."

Orias nodded, a frown gracing his lips. "Count me in."

There was a strange tone of relief beneath his voice. So slight, she thought, that—like the blood and fire scent—it was more a sensation than an actual sound.

Her brow furrowed as her gaze searched his face. "You've nowhere to go, do you?"

Shaking his head, he tried not to care about something as meaningless as sympathy. "Been on my own since the War's end."

"C'mon, then. God, I hope Lavender knew this was going to happen, or I'm going to have a lot of explaining to do."

She turned and started walking toward the same easy-to-miss side street entrance that had allowed her to slip into Knockturn Alley, unseen. Perhaps that was why Lavender had not argued more to accompany her? She'd foreseen this meeting with Orias? Did that mean she was okay with this? Or that she felt it inevitable?

"You lost me, again, little witch," Orias said as he fell into step beside her, their height difference making it appear he was looming over her. "Who's Lavender?"

Hermione's eyes narrowed and she squared her jaw. "Um . . . another she-wolf? Also turned at the Battle. It messed with her head a bit, though, now she's  _unique_. She's also . . . sort of my girlfriend. Or, well, lover, I guess. Pack mate."

Orias Mulciber halted mid-stride, one brow arched impossibly high as he pivoted on his heel to peer down at her. "You have a girlfriend?"

She nodded, pursing her lips.

This time, he skipped the smirk, and went right to the wicked grin. "Count me in for  _that_ , too."

He started walking, again.

Her brows shot up. "I—I never said—"

Spinning back to face her, he caught her chin between his fingers, the action cutting short her words.

For a moment, he only held her gaze, his teeth scraping against his bottom lip. "Oh, little witch, let's let your girlfriend make her own decisions, shall we? But you and I?" He let out a deep breath and shook his head. "I've got a feeling you and I are going to have a _lot_  of trouble saying no to one another."

Hermione felt her skin warm, even as he relinquished his hold and turned away, again. Swallowing hard, she forced herself to focus and hurried to catch up to his irritatingly long-legged strides.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Roman Fancast: Lasse Matberg

 

**Chapter Three**

Thorfinn Rowle lifted his head as he drew in a trembling breath. Trying, once more, to yank on the bindings pinning his arms over his head, he uttered a sound that was half anger, half exhaustion.

Another failed attempt to free himself, and he met Fenrir Greyback's gaze. On the opposite wall of the cave, facing him, the werewolf was in much the same predicament.

Yet, he was rather sure _he_  would not be here, had Fenrir not bitten him.

An angry scowl twisting his features, the blond wizard hissed in a lethal whisper, "I hate you _so_  much, right now."

Fenrir let out a tired chuckle and shook his head, giving up his own struggle with his restraints. This was madness! He should be able to tear out of these manacles like tissue paper!

But that could only mean one thing about their captor.

"You know, one  _does_  get sick of hearing that," Fenrir said with a sigh. "But I've got more bad news for you."

Thorfinn rolled his eyes as he thought. "Hmm, let's run down the list, shall we? Bitten, by  _you,_  kidnapped to find myself trapped, with  _you_ , knowing the full moon's barely a fortnight away, but we might not live that long, and even if we do . . . . Still trapped in a cave, losing my mind because of the full moon  _with_   _you_."

Fenrir considered the other man's words with a frown before he nodded. Sounded about right.

"So tell me, please, what could be worse than the shit storm you've personally delivered me, already?"

Not that he couldn't appreciate the humor in the blond's feigned reverent tone. At this rate, however, he didn't doubt he might not make it to collecting the rest of his new pack, since he was sure that if Thorfinn _did_  manage to get free, he would not hesitate to use his increasing wolfish streak to rip Fenrir limb from limb with his bare hands.

To think, for a few days there, he'd second-guessed his choice to bite Rowle. The young Death Eater had proved pragmatic, something horribly at odds with his hot-headed temperament, and that did not bode well for his first shift.

But then, unwelcome bondage did have a way of drawing out the  _best_ in people.

"Well," Fenrir said with another drained chuckle as he shook his head. "If I can't get out of these chains, it means they're made for someone like us. But . . . I can't even budge them, which means they're made for someone stronger than  _me_."

Thorfinn's lips pulled back from his teeth in a feral grimace. "Which means what?"

"That I know who's holding us here."

Holding in a growl, Thorfinn gave a headshake of his own. Bloody hell, this was not the time for dramatic pauses! "Mind sharing?!"

Aware of heavy, sure footfalls entering his range of hearing, Fenrir mirrored Thorfinn's ferocious expression as he turned his attention to the cave's entrance. "The one who made  _me_."

* * *

Hermione crept into the room, cautioning the giant of a wizard at her back to move quietly. Orias followed so close behind her that she knew it was deliberate, what with the way he took advantage of their proximity to occasionally brush his body against hers—not that she was complaining. And it also seemed her warning was not necessary, as he walked surprisingly silent for a man of his stature.

Hurrying to replace the enchantments protecting their room, Hermione made her way to the bed to check on Lavender.

Though she sat on the edge of the bed as delicately as she could, barely jostling the mattress, at all, the other she-wolf responded immediately to her closeness. Lavender curved herself around Hermione, resting her head on the brunette witch's thigh.

A half-smile curving her lips, Hermione stroked Lavender's hair with gentle fingertips to tuck the golden locks behind her ear.

"I'll say it, little witch" Orias whispered, his tone playful, "you two certainly are a special kind of adorable."

Hermione shot him a withering glare. When he responded with an eloquent, upward flick of one eyebrow, she had to hold in a laugh as she shook her head. She was nearly positive she'd never met a more irreverent creature.

Well, no, she had, but she was sure  _he_  was long gone since the War's end. Probably hiding out within some other Wizarding community as he eluded Aurors still on the lookout for Death Eaters at large.

Bloody hell, she was lucky no one had seen her with Orias Mulciber, just now. Not that she'd exactly stomped into the heart of Diagon Alley and announced him.

Clearing her throat in a sleepy tumble of sound, Lavender curled tighter around Hermione. "You found—you found him. Good."

Hermione's jaw fell open as she choked out a gasp. "You little . . . ." Not very effective calling the other witch little  _anything_ , when Lavender was, in fact, just a bit taller than Hermione. "So that's why you didn't argue to go with me."

Those pretty blue eyes blinked open, still dazed from sleep. "I didn't know for certain—for certain. I only knew you were going to find something that wouldn't—wouldn't hurt you." She closed her eyes, slipping her arms around Hermione's hips to snuggle against her lap more effectively. "Not until after—after you left did I see what was going to happen."

"Okay," Orias said with a shake of his head and a puzzled expression. "That's getting disconcerting, _real_  fast."

Hermione shot him another scathing glance. "I told you Fenrir's bite had a unique effect on her.  _This_  is it. She's a diviner, now." Returning her attention to Lavender, Hermione pouted in thought. As close as she and Lavender had become, they'd never set actual boundaries or clarifications on what they were to one another, so she really was not sure what to say. "Should I be apologizing?"

"No—no." Lavender breathed out a content sigh. "What happened was always—always going to happen. If you two hadn't started things in that garden, it'd still have—have eventually started later, anyway."

"Oh. So, when she says she saw, she  _saw_."

Shoulders slumping, Hermione shook her head. "Not the brightest candle in the chandelier, are you?"

"Oi."

Hermione ignored his feigned affronted tone. She was still at a loss for what to say to Lavender. She still wasn't certain about how to feel about Orias Mulciber, which only made her wonder if it would affect what she and the other witch had.

"Stop fretting—fretting. You don't have to try so hard to protect me all the time."

The darker-haired young woman emitted a little growl at that, but her vantage point blocked her from seeing how the lone male in the room's eyebrow shot up at the sound. "Of course I do. I said I'd  _always_ protect you, and I meant it. Even in something like this."

Lavender relinquished her hold on Hermione and pushed herself across the bed in small, unsteady movements. "Wouldn't be you, other—otherwise. I'm too tired for this, now. Let's sleep and talk in the—in the morning."

As Hermione moved to lay beside the other witch, she halted. "I'm so rude. Lavender Brown, Orias Mulciber. Orias Mulciber, Lavender Brown. Since we're pack, knowing each other's names is probably wise."

"I imagine 'oi, you over there' would get confusing after a while," Orias said, a laugh edging his voice.

Lavender uttered a sleepy giggle. "He's—he's funny."

Smirking as he watched Hermione lay down, and the other witch immediately shift to snuggle against her, he said, "Oh, I'm full of all sorts of charms."

"Charms _not_  to be explored further tonight, Mulciber," Hermione said in a warning tone even as she gestured for him to join them on the bed. Certainly she thought she should feel odd, inviting a man she'd just met into bed with them—to actually  _sleep,_ of all things—though she was certain the sense of familiarity between them in this moment had little to do with what had happened between them, already.

No, instead, she couldn't escape the mental image of wolves all snoozing in a big, warm pile.

With a heavy sigh and a shake of his head, he settled down beside Hermione. She, in turn, tucked herself into his side, her head pillowed in the hollow of his shoulder, Lavender curled up behind her.

"Huh." Orias stared up at the ceiling in the night-dark of the room as he squared his jaw—well, how about that? He _was_  tired. "Somehow, I'd imagined _I'd_ be the one in the middle."

Lavender raised her hand from Hermione's hip just long enough to wave dismissively. "Don't worry, that'll happen—that'll happen soon enough. Couple of times, act—actually. And yes, the way  _you're_  picturing."

He stopped himself just short of asking if her divination included the ability to read minds, but then he recalled they  _were_  turning into werewolves, he was probably giving off a scent that indicated his train of thought.

His shoulders shook with a quiet chuckle as he let his eyes drift closed. "I like the way you think, Blondie."

Hermione let out another little growl—and was unexpectedly satisfied to feel the two of them go perfectly still on either side of her at the sound. "Sleeping, now, both of you hush."

Lavender immediately closed her eyes and snuggled tighter against Hermione. Orias . . . .

Orias angled his gaze to look at Hermione's face. She'd closed her eyes, as well, and certainly appeared as though she was trying to follow her own command.

So, she fancied herself in charge of their little pack? He wasn't certain precisely how he felt about that, but this was certainly going to be interesting.

* * *

Thorfinn heard the footsteps shortly after Fenrir had. Now he understood the menacing look the werewolf had turned on the entrance.

He felt as though he could just about smell the rage simmering off the creature coming down the tunnel toward them.

"Yeah," the blond wizard said with a sigh that barely masked the growl in his voice. " _Definitely_  hating you right now."

"I do hope you two are enjoying the presents," the booming voice entered the room before the man, though, when he did step out, Thorfinn spared a moment to lift his brows in question.

The man—if he could be called that—could pass for one of his own uncles. Certainly had the Viking look of the Rowle line, possibly just a bit taller than himself, and markedly denser of muscle, which said much.

But his face . . . . As the thing stepped into the heart of the cave and grinned, Thorfinn honestly felt his stomach roil. The blue of its eyes was ringed bright, violent crimson and the teeth were sharp, inhuman—the jaws of a wolf set into the mouth of a man.

"Acquired them from many a hunter's tried to claim me over the centuries, thought sure they would be perfect to hold you and yours, pup."

_Centuries?_  Thorfinn tried hard to keep his shock in check, but he knew his startled reaction was obvious to the two older wolves present.

"For fuck's sake, Roman, cut the theatrics," Fenrir said through clenched teeth. "If you're going to kill us, do it, you're going to torture me have at it, anything _but_ talking me to death!"

"Oh, dear, dear boy." The thing—Roman—let out a chuckle that was more growl than laugh. He crossed the cave to stand before Fenrir, letting a strangely compassionate look color his face before he jammed clawed fingertips into his pup's side.

Fenrir jumped, the force of the jab pressing him into the wall behind him. The jarring motion of his own body's reaction to the injury only causing Roman's claws to do more damage.

"Of course, I am going to torture you. Probably kill you, eventually, too." Those disturbing eyes rolled in thought. "Likely kill your spare pup over there, as well."

"For fuck's sake," Thorfinn said in a resigned whisper as he tipped his head back to glare at the ceiling of the cave.

"What's stopping you?"

Roman withdrew his claws, inspecting them carefully before he lapped at the droplets of crimson running down his fingers. "Hmm. You know, it would likely behoove you to realize I was there that day. I saw you on the battlefield after your _precious_  Dark Lord fell."

Fenrir, squirming with the discomfort of his body already attempting to patch itself up, only met his maker's gaze. "What's that got to do with anything?"

"Everything. I am most assuredly going to kill the other spare, as well." Roman sighed, his massive shoulders drooping a little. "But I will not kill you,  _yet_."

"And again, I ask," Fenrir's voice spilled out in a lethal whisper, a feral expression twisting his features. "What's stopping you?"

Bracing his palms against the cave wall on either side of his pup's head, Roman leaned close, sure that Fenrir could smell his own blood on his breath as he spoke, "I will not dispose of you until you tell me where they are."

"They?" Fenrir echoed, certain he meant the Mudblood and Mulciber, but determined to play stupid.

"Your she-wolves. You will tell me where they are, or I will make your  _every_  breath agony."

Thorfinn felt a strange, confused fluttering in his gut—icy and uncomfortable, and he realized the sensation was ebbing off of Fenrir. Fuck, this was probably some stupid werewolf pack bullshit. Fan-bloody-tastic.

"She- _wolves_?" Fenrir demanded, able to ignore his pained state at the moment. But the words rushed out before he could stop them, "I only made one!"

Roman snickered, a vile sound that made Thorfinn's skin crawl. "Think back."

Baring his teeth, Fenrir shook his head. He'd bitten Hermione Granger, yes. But hadn't not been of a mind to turn any other witch that day . . . . Though he _had_  bitten another . . . .

The blond girl. The one blocking his path, the one he thought an easy kill . . . .

She  _survived_?

At the look of realization dawning in his pup's face, Roman laughed, again.

Thoughtless words tumbled from Fenrir's lips as he shook his head, still stunned by the revelation. "I don't know where they are." Collecting himself quickly, he said through clenched teeth, "Wouldn't tell you, even if I did, though."

One, clawed finger pressing beneath Fenrir's jaw, Roman raised the other wolf's head to meet his gaze. "Well, let us see if I can  _persuade_ you to figure out just where they might be hiding, hmm?"


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

Thorfinn winced, averting his gaze—for what time that made this, he couldn't even be certain. At this point, even he felt sorry for Fenrir.

With a shoulder-drooping sigh, Roman paced before his pup. He wore an expression that was beyond bored and disinterested as he cleaned his claws, yet again.

Fenrir rolled his head back, staring up at the ceiling in a daze. He let out a pained sound that  _his_  pup supposed was intended as a laugh. The same thing . . . for what must've been hours, he'd endured the same punishment. Those claws rending and tearing, then enough time to be allowed to heal.

And just as the new skin finished forming, Roman tore into him again.

"And . . . ." Fenrir drew a shuddering breath and let it out slow, feeling the uncomfortable itching sensation of his flesh knitting back together. "You wonder why I ran from you in . . . in the first place."

Again, Roman sighed, turning on his heel to face Fenrir. "These punishments would be much less severe, had you stayed at my side, Pup."

"There is no  _less severe_  with you."

"Yes, well, another thing about you is you never seemed to learn to respect your alpha."

Fenrir mumbled something as he hung his head, then. Something even Roman could not quite make out.

"What was that?"

For a strained handful of heartbeats, Fenrir said nothing.

Losing his calm to a sudden sense of frustration—this little wretch always did know how to push his buttons—Roman latched his hand beneath Fenrir's jaw and forced the younger wolf's head back up.

"Repeat yourself."

Fenrir grinned exhaustedly. Thorfinn arched a brow. He hated to admit it, but he was a bit awed by just how few shits Fenrir had to give about the excruciating predicament he was in.

"I said it's because you may have made me, but you were never  _my_  alpha."

Roman smirked. Thorfinn also hated to admit that his blood ran cold at the sight.

"You are not thinking hard enough, I believe. Let us try this again." There was that sickening squelch of his claws plunging into flesh as he leaned close, holding Fenrir's pained gaze. "Where might your she-wolves be?"

* * *

Hermione stretched as she stepped from the bathroom, a warm—if threadbare—terrycloth robe wrapped around her. Not that sleeping wedged between Lavender and Orias hadn't been pleasant, but she'd simply been unable to still her thoughts.

She'd wriggled carefully out from under the tangle of limbs and ducked away from the bed to take a quick shower. Of course, it had crossed her mind to wake Orias to ask if he wanted to join her, but then, she'd still be in there, and washing up would probably be the last thing on either of their minds.

Same for waking Lavender. Certainly, they'd be quieter, but she had a feeling being in his proximity during a heated moment would wake him. Then, of  _course,_  he'd join them . . . and again, there was the issue of her not getting the calming shower she was looking for.

Jelly-limbed lethargy and a state of _genuine_  calm were two quite different things.

Giving her hair one last, drying pat, she dropped the towel and padded over to the bed. She started climbing over Orias to return to her place between them, when Lavender bolted upright.

Hermione stilled in shock, settling right where she was as she watched the other she-wolf's startled gaze roaming the dark of the room.

"Bloody hell," Orias said, pulling the sheet down just enough to peer up at the witch straddling him. "Not that I'm complaining, of course."

"Lavender?" the brunette asked, blindly swatting him on his side. "What is it? What's wrong?"

Shifting, Lavender turned herself to meet Hermione's gaze. "They're in—in danger."

Hermione and Orias exchanged a bewildered glance. "Who?" they asked at once.

"Fenrir, and our—and our other packmate. Someone's hurting them."

"You saw them? They're together?"

The golden-haired witch nodded. "Yes, he found Fenrir. Blond, and—blond, and looks a bit like him . . . . I could see the tattoo on his arm—his arm."

Again, Hermione and Orias spoke at the same time, "Thorfinn Rowle?"

Lavender shrugged, observing helplessly as Orias turned a suspicious look on the tiny would-be alpha still perched over him. "I know how  _I_ know Rowle. How do  _you_  know him?"

Giving a shrug of her own, Hermione glanced away. "He's sort of my . . . ex-boyfriend?"

The other witch's brows shot up—clearly she'd not expected that level of coincidence. Orias smacked his hand against his face and then pulled the sheet back up over his head.

Rolling her eyes, Hermione tugged at the cover, but he was not conceding. "Oh, no, Orias Mulciber! You heard her—they're in danger, we have to go help them!"

He made an unhappy rumbling noise that wasn't quite a growl. Pulling down the sheet once more, he sat up and snatched both her wrists in one hand, managing to keep her in his lap.

Hermione was dizzied by his speed a moment—she wasn't certain a man of his stature should be able to move so quick. "Wha—?"

"Give me one good reason I should stick my neck out for the thing that did this to us and the bloke you used to shag?"

An affronted gasp sounded from her. She'd said nothing of shagging Thorfinn Rowle—dating didn't automatically mean that—but then, there she was being thick, again. They were werewolves, her scent had probably shifted  _just_  enough at the realization that Lavender was speaking of Thorfinn to tip off Orias.

Marshalling her patience, she held his gaze and tipped her chin in defiance. "If whoever has them kills Fenrir, they steal our chance to make him pay for doing this to us. I don't know about you, but I want to know why he took the time to bite us when he should've been running for the hills with the other werewolves the  _second_ Voldemort's body hit the ground!"

He tipped his own head back a bit, but angled his gaze to maintain eye contact. She _was_  correct, he did want to deliver judgment on Fenrir for forcing this fate upon them—but more than that, she was daring him to challenge her about it.

A half-grin curved his lips as a subdued growl rumbled in the back of his throat. Honestly . . . he didn't know if he wanted to kill her with his bare hands, or shag her until they were  _both_ walking funny.

Just then, Lavender broke into their steadily-heating staring contest. She tipped over, to land with her head resting on Hermione's thigh. Though it seemed like a clumsy movement, Orias was certain from how it allowed the blonde to dart her gaze from his face to Hermione's with ease, that it was a calculated maneuver.

He could tell she was physically weak—her body was not taking as well to the transition as his or Hermione's—which was likely why the other witch doted on her, so. Wasn't there a word for that type of wolf within a pack? Omega? Yes, that's what she was . . . .

And perhaps that _did_  make Hermione their alpha. He would be tempted to drop Lavender at some point, rather than letting her weigh down the rest of them, whereas the brunette witch would clearly fight, tooth and nail, to defend her.

Though, this little omega certainly knew how to diffuse the other girl, he'd give her that.

Dropping his gaze to meet Lavender's, he waited for her to explain the interruption.

Clamping a hand over her mouth and nose, she snickered. "You two are—are funny."

Hermione arched a brow.

"You want each other, but you  _also_  want to fight, and neither of—neither of you knows how to deal with that."

Now, it was Orias' turn to arch a brow. "You keep that up, seer, and eventually your creepiness will outweigh how cute you are."

After a quietly amused moment between the three, Hermione realized . . . . She was still straddling his lap. He still clasped her wrists in one hand.

She pulled back, but he held tight, snapping his attention from Lavender to lock on her.

For a strained heartbeat, Hermione felt the air of the room settle around her. Felt the breath she drew as though the action was independent of her.

Then, his mouth was crashing down on hers. Relinquishing his hold on her wrists, he slid his hands around her hips and dragged her to press against him.

She was vaguely aware of her fingers pulling at the fabric of his robes—there was far too much to pay attention to, already. His tongue plunging between her lips, Lavender easing up behind her to press sweet, wet little kisses to the side of her throat.

There was . . . . No, she needed to focus . . . . There was something they were all forgetting, wasn't there?

Hermione wanted to throw a  _very_  un-Hermione-like temper tantrum just now as it suddenly occurred to her—just as she managed to clumsily tear open Orias' robes, and Lavender's hands had slid up to cup her breasts.  _Dammit, Hermione!_

She broke the kiss, gulping for air as she said, "Wait, wait!"

He opened his eyes, a gorgeously dazed look in them, and she felt Lavender's mouth still against her skin.

"We can't do this now! We have to go find them."

Groaning, Orias let himself fall back against the bed, once more smacking his hand against his face. "You're a terrible person."

With a smirk, Hermione leaned over him, conscious of Lavender moving with her to peer over her shoulder at the man, as well. "Oh, don't worry, we  _will_ revisit this at the soonest available opportunity . . . but it's an opportunity you'll not have, at all, if you don't help us."

Again he groaned, his massive frame seeming to sag against the mattress. "God, curse me for thinking with my cock.  _Fine_!"

With what he was sure was a triumphant giggle, she leaned down, placing a single, quick-but-hungry kiss to his mouth, before she bounced off him. The blond followed suit and he couldn't say he was terribly sorry for his reluctance to leave the bed when the witches proceeded to dress for their departure as though he wasn't there.

Of course, he could've done without their movements being so hasty, but he supposed they were in a hurry.

"Do you think you can find them?"

At Hermione's question, Lavender's gaze roamed the ceiling. After a few moments of thought, she answered with a firm nod. "Yes, but it'll be—it'll be dangerous. The one hurting them is  _strong_. Very—very strong."

The warning sent an icy chill through Hermione's chest.

The other two immediately seemed startled, locking their attention on her. "Lavender doesn't have a wand. She needs a wand!"

Rolling his eyes, Orias finally pulled himself up from the bed to stand. "Oh, calm down, little witch. Just so happens I know where we might be able to get our hands on an unattended one. It won't be a perfect fit, but it'll be better than her being unarmed."

Hermione's brow furrowed. "You just so happen to know—?" The witches exchanged a suspicious glance. "Why don't I like the sound of that?"

Shrugging, he dropped his gaze to the floor as he said, "It might just involve a teensy bit of law-breaking."

Her mouth twitching side-to-side as she considered that, Hermione just sighed. "Well, wouldn't be the first time. Lead the way."

Orias' jaw fell at how easily she acquiesced to the notion of breaking laws. "You get more interesting by the minute, little witch."

Unable to help herself, she tossed his own statement from earlier in the night back at him. "Oh, I'm full of all sorts of charms," she said, winking at him before starting for the door.

The blonde witch covered a giggle as she followed her alpha.

He hung back a second, biting into his bottom lip as he nodded. "You most certainly are."


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

Thorfinn squeezed his eyes shut, his midsection clenching in what was almost a dry heave. He thought he'd never get the sound of this out of his head, now. Or, that he'd at least have grown accustomed to it. As it turned out, however, there was no growing accustomed to the sound of claws repeatedly tearing through flesh.

Well, maybe there was, but it certainly didn't happen in a matter of hours. All that wretched noise was doing at this point was nauseating him.

"Stop,  _stop_ ," he finally shouted, unable to take the sound anymore.

Roman chuckled, though the noise he uttered was—at bloody friggin' last—edged with exhaustion, as he turned to face Thorfinn. "Sorry, problem, grand-pup? Is that what I should call you?" He rolled his eyes in thought before nodded in agreement with his own thoughts. "Yes, pup of my pup, after all, and I believe I quite like the ring to that. Grand-pup? As you were saying?"

Thorfinn glowered, the only one in this damned cave who wasn't, yet, a fully-fledged werewolf, he was perfectly aware he the most powerless. But he was just  _so_  blinking tired right now. He wanted this all to end, already—he couldn't even feel his arms, anymore.

"I was saying . . . ." He paused, dragging in a long, reluctant yawn. Merlin, just how long had it been since he'd actually slept? "I was saying stop, he clearly doesn't have a clue where they might be."

"Stay out of this," Fenrir managed in a low, growling tumble of words.

"Oh, you shut it! You're the entire reason I'm stuck here. He's clearly going to murder us, both. Right now, he's just keeping us around to torture us. Maybe he gets his jollies from it, I don't know and I don't fucking care, Greyback!"

Roman tsk'ed. "That is a rather unfair judgement."

Sputtering an exasperated laugh, Thorfinn shrugged, only to immediately wince. The movement reminded him of the strain in his shoulders from his arms being pinned over his head for so long. "I don't care 'bout anything you've got to say, or your reasons. Do you hear me? I do  _not_  care. Do you want to know why I don't care?"

Those unnerving, crimson-tinged eyes sparkled in amusement at the young man's bravado. "You know what?" He turned his back on Fenrir and strolled closer to Thorfinn. Halting just beyond arms length, Roman tapped a thoughtful, clawed finger against his jaw. "I do want to know."

"You've already told us you're going to kill us. And it's pretty bloody evident he doesn't know where these she-wolves you're talking about might be. Even if he did, we're dead, anyway. So, no. I do not care that you are some scary ancient thing that never tires of disembowelment." Thorfinn winced again, bracing himself for the rippling soreness as he shrugged, once more. "You  _will_  kill us, no matter what. I know it, you know it, Greyback knows it. So, I can only think you're dragging it out like this because you're enjoying it, not because you think he's actually got an answer."

Roman nodded, a thoughtful frown tugging the corners of his mouth downward as he nodded. "You know what, Grand-pup? You may just have a point." With a second nod, he looked from Thorfinn to Fenrir, and back. "Then again, perhaps I am not using the proper motivation. He never bonded as a pack with me, this much is true. However, maybe my pup will feel more strongly compelled to find an answer if it is  _his_  pup in danger, rather than himself, hmm?"

Fenrir's bleary and dazed amber eyes shot wide at his maker's words. "No!"

_Oh, fucking hell,_  Thorfinn thought—prepared to die was one thing, prepared to feel his guts torn out was quite another—turning his face away and tensing against whatever might come.

The strike for which he'd braced himself never came. But Thorfinn knew precisely what had halted Roman in mid-swing. Those muttered words that had just tumbled from Fenrir's lips.

Opening his eyes, he looked up. A cruel grin curved Roman's mouth as he met his  _grand-pup's_ gaze before pivoting on his heel, his clawed hand still in the air.

"What was that?"

Thorfinn growled under his breath, aware Roman was toying with Fenrir. He'd heard the word clearly, himself, and it was something that sent a sickening twinge curling through the pit of his stomach.

"Mudblood . . . ." Fenrir shook his head, hating himself. He didn't know their location, so there was the hope Roman couldn't glean any further information from what he did know.

Thorfinn's features twisted in a snarl. There was only ever one Mudblood Fenrir Greyback had fancied enough to consider biting, he'd made no secret about that.

Unable to control his anger, Thorfinn found himself trying to pull away from the wall, tugging at his chains with renewed vigor. "You bit Hermione, you son of a bitch?!"

He was too distracted by his own rage to find Roman's warped chuckling unsettling, anymore.

Exhaling through his nostrils, Fenrir shook his head. His attention locked on the ground before him, he could distinctly hear Roman's footfalls as his maker stalked closer to him. "That'd be her. I don't know the other one's name. That was an attack of opportunity, I never imagined she'd survive. And I really don't know where they are. Haven't the foggiest idea, since I've not seen hide nor hair of  _either_  of those girls since the day I bit them."

Roman nodded, drawing to a halt just before him. "Is that all?"

Fenrir shook his head once more, shrugging against his bonds. He knew Thorfinn would never forgive him for this—for biting her, or for giving Roman information—but perhaps it would buy them some time to figure a way out of this. If Thorfinn would stop growling and snarling long enough to think clearly.

He was perfectly aware Thorfinn didn't know about the ace up his sleeve. The one Roman hadn't mentioned, but then Orias Mulciber had been the one Fenrir had bitten last that day. Perhaps Roman had already turned away before then, convinced there was no more to see.

If Orias was ambling about anywhere near those girls, he would've fallen prey to his own instincts and gone to find them. And it was how close to the wolf that one seemed as a mere human wizard that had fueled Fenrir's choice to bite him in the first place.

"I promise you, I've got no idea where they are. But, I know HER. Fierce little protector-type, that one. If my quick-kill truly survived, my Mudblood is probably watching over her. So, wherever they are, they're together."

A few words spilled out of Thorfinn, then, barely intelligible among the furious animal sounds he was emitting. " _Your_  Mudblood?"

Roman only chuckled, once more. Stroking his bearded chin thoughtfully, he said, "So they are just out there? Stumbling about somewhere in the ether?"

"Would seem so." Fenrir braced for a renewed flurry of gut-ripping swipes.

He didn't know if it was better or worse when Roman instead uttered the sentence, "Appears I am going to need some bait, then, does it not?"

* * *

"Would this be a—a proper time to say I don't like this?"

Hermione's shoulders slumped as she and Orias—moving at the same time—both stopped in their tracks and turned to face the blonde witch-wolf. She merely stared back at them, blinking adorably.

"Are you saying that because you've foreseen this going badly?"

Lavender shook her head at her girlfriend's question. "Oh, no. I just don't like all this—all this skulking about in the dark of night business."

The wizard chuckled, shaking his head. "We're werewolves now, Seer. I imagine we'll be getting up to 'skulking about in the dark of night' much more often in the future."

Waving dismissively in Mulciber's direction, Hermione then placed gentle hands on the other witch's shoulders. "I know it's not a pleasant idea, but Mr. Olivander hasn't returned to work, yet, and you  _need_ a wand. I'm sure if he knew our circumstances, he might be sympathetic to us and want to help—he remembers helping us select our first wands when we were just little girls. Whatever we find is probably not going to be a perfect fit, but if any of the wands start wreaking havoc, we'll need to run, fast, with whatever we've got."

Truth be told, Hermione didn't much like the idea of sneaking into Mr. Olivander's shop, either. She also didn't believe he'd be quick to help a bunch of werewolves—especially not with a Death Eater in their midst—but she  _did_  believe that if it were only her and Lavender, and the elder wizard understood they were trying to protect people they might actually need to help them survive their circumstances, then he would be sympathetic enough to help the girls he remembered as eleven year olds. One of them being a War Hero and all that would probably tip the scales in their favor, as well.

War Hero . . . skulking about the backway of Diagon Alley with a Death Eater and a girl everyone thought had died in said war. Oh, how had her life even taken this turn?

Lavender wasn't quite buying it, but she understood Hermione's reasons, and knew her alpha was correct—she did need a wand. She did not at all fancy the notion of having to hide, or standing about like a useless little lump as Hermione and Orias did all the fighting if things got sticky.

Nodding, she patted Hermione's hands. "You're right, let's just—just get this over with."

With a nod of his own, Orias turned right back around and started for the rear entrance of the wand shop. "Now, I've been keeping account of the um, currently unmanned establishments in Knockturn and Diagon—"

"Gee, can't imagine why," Hermione said with a shake of her head. She might've nearly shagged the man within mere moments of meeting him—and be of a mind to do it again as soon as the opportunity presented itself—but it was never far from her thoughts that he was, in fact, a literal criminal.

Well, by  _pure_  technicality, she was, too, but there was a difference!

He frowned at her over his shoulder, but kept walking. "Be fair, Little Witch. A man in my situation needs to be aware of what can and can't work to his advantage if he's to survive long."

"He's not wrong," Lavender said in a small voice as she slipped her hand into Hermione's, keeping pace at her side.

Hermione only sighed. Of course he wasn't wrong; she was no stranger to the lengths one would go to for survival.

"As I was saying before you interrupted me, you infuriating little sexpot, is that I know which shops are warded, and which are not. As it turns out, the wand shop—surprisingly enough—is not." He shrugged as he came to a halt before the establishment's backdoor. "Mostly due to the way he made his exit that last time. He didn't exactly have time to put wards in place on his way out."

Wincing, Hermione asked, "You're not one of the ones who dragged poor Mr. Olivander out of here, are you?"

He chuckled at that. "Me? No, no. Dark Lord usually reserved me for things that require  _actual_  muscle."

At the reminder, both witches gave him a once-over and nodded. They mumbled agreements about understanding Voldemort's thinking on that count, which only caused Orias to laugh harder.

"But the incident isn't unknown to me. Everyone assumes a wand shop will be guarded, so no one bothered to really check, but also . . . ." He gripped one hand around the knob of the backdoor and pointed his wand at it with the other. "No one else bothered to try breaking in.  _Alohomora_."

The girls cringed, waiting for something to happen. When no sound met their ears aside from that of the door creaking open, they both looked up, wide-eyed.

Smirking, he opened the door all the way. "Ladies first." He swept an arm toward the darkened interior.

Hermione squared her shoulders, illuminating her own wand as she tugged Lavender with her to head inside. She wasn't at all surprised to feel Orias' hand swat her on the bum as she moved passed him.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

Hermione jumped at the contact, her skin smarting a bit. It also didn't help that his hand was so large, and her frame so petite in comparison to his, he managed to catch nearly her entire arse with that one slap.

He laughed at her response as he followed them into the shop and pulled the door closed behind him. "Bit tense there, Little Witch. Suppose we'll have to set aside some time later to work some of that out, yeah?"

Lavender giggled and Hermione had to wrangle her mind into behaving itself at his not-at-all-subtle insinuation. Forcing a gulp down her throat, she said, "We certainly  _will_ , but for the moment, let's focus, shall we?"

"Right, right, rescuing packmates, was it? Fine. To finding our Seer a wand, then!"

Both witches nodded and turned to look at the shelves upon shelves of long, thin boxes along the darkened rows of the shop interior. The very weight of the task before her pressed on Lavender suddenly, Hermione could feel it.

She had to think of some way to make this simpler for Lavender.

"I know!" Slipping her hand around one of the other young woman's wrists, Hermione turned her around. Cupping Lavender's face, she said, "You can sense things. You've a gift. Use that. Okay? I want you to just close your eyes, take a deep breath, and focus. All right?"

Though her large blue eyes were watering, Lavender nodded, pressing her hands lightly over Hermione's. Letting her lids drift shut, she did exactly as asked. Drawing in a deep, calming breath, she thought on her task, thought on the feel of holding a wand once more, of that initial spark when the wielder connected with their weapon for the very first time.

As she exhaled, she felt it. A little . . . pulse. Behind her. Her eyes still closed, she gently dragged Hermione's hands from her cheeks and turned toward the rippling sensation in the air. Relinquishing her hold on her girlfriend's wrists, she drifted across the floor.

Orias, watching the spectacle, leaned down to breathe the word in Hermione's ear as he said, "Creepy."

Frowning, Hermione jabbed an elbow backward, catching him in his midsection—not that it seemed to do very much, what with the impact feeling so very solid. Damn muscly thing that he was.

Lavender came to a halt before one shelf in particular. Behind her closed eyelids, she could see a faint sparkling. Finally opening her eyes, she pointed to the box that rested precisely where that pricking of light had been. "There."

His brows drawing upward at how high up over either of the witches' heads the box was, he said, "Should we get her a stool, or—?"

"Oh, will you just go help her, you great mountain!" Hermione wouldn't say it out loud, but the relaxed moment was making her uneasy. She was trying to keep the feeling under wraps as it was, aware that if she didn't keep it in check, they'd both pick up on it.

It wasn't that she particularly fancied the notion of rescuing  _Greyback_  after he'd done this to them, but the idea that Thorfinn was in danger right along with him? She knew Orias was already feeling territorial toward her—well, toward her and Lavender, both—and he wasn't especially happy about her history with the other wizard; insisting they hurry was only going to strain the situation.

Snickering, he shook his head even as he moved to follow his petite alpha's snapped order. "Yes, ma'am."

He tried not to laugh again, since Lavender was trying  _very_  hard to make herself reach it, standing on her toes and struggling to reach her arm as high as she could possibly manage over her head. Orias really did find it precious how little these two were.

Biting his lip to hold in a chuckle at her struggles—neither of the she-wolves would be pleased about just how humorous he found this situation—he slipped an arm around the blonde's waist and moved her out of his path as though she weighed nothing at all. She actually seemed quite surprised to find her set back on her feet behind him and facing Hermione.

"I'm not—I'm not even sure if that was rude or not."

With an exasperated roll of her eyes, Hermione shook her head and shrugged. "At least he's helping."

Turning back around, box in hand, he reached an arm over Lavender, holding it before her. "There you go."

"You really are having—having way too much fun at our expense."

"What can I tell you," he said, leaning over the top of her head to meet her gaze. "I just enjoy my natural gifts."

"Mm-hmm," both witches answered in the same breath.

Taking the box from him, Lavender opened it. Drawing in another calming breath, she slid her fingers around the wand in a cautious movement. That familiar spark of first connection sang through her as she lifted the instrument from its bedding.

Smiling, she nodded. "This is the one." Lavender beamed at Hermione. "You were—you were right."

Orias narrowed his eyes, his face all sorts of judgmental as he gazed down at Hermione, clear across the top of Lavender's head. "I've got the feeling that's something she hears a lot."

Again, the girls answered in unison as they said, "It is."

He wagged a finger at them. "You're both lucky you're fit, because you're both a bit creepy."

Hermione's laugh at that was cut short as Lavender collapsed on the spot.

"Lav!" She was by the other witch's side in a blink, pulling Lavender into her lap. "Lavender? Lav, baby, can you hear me?"

Orias' brows pinched together in a look of concern—oh, well, fuck it all, he was actually starting to worry about them, stupid pack bullshit. "Has this happened before?"

Pressing her lips together in a grim line, Hermione met his gaze, her chestnut eyes wide. She shook her head, cradling the other she-wolf closer.

They both jumped as Lavender gasped, her eyes snapping open.

"Oh, my  _God_." Hermione hugged her girlfriend to her, letting herself droop back against Orias instinctively as he knelt behind her. "What was that? Are you okay?"

Swallowing hard, Lavender nodded. "Yes, yes. But . . . I felt them, again. They're in pain. He's hurting both of them!"

Hermione couldn't hold back her fear for Thorfinn, then. And shit, she even found herself worrying about Greyback. But then, they were all new to this werewolf nonsense. At the very least, they needed him to teach them how to thrive in this existence as he had.

Orias' nostrils flared, a growl rumbling in his chest. He could feel her fear, and it kicked off an instinctive protectiveness in him. Even if he hated that he knew the source of her fear.

"But there's more!" Lavender nodded, giving Hermione a quick kiss before she went on. "I know where—where they are, now! Well, not ex—not exactly, but the general location!"

"Where?" the other two asked at the same moment.

"They're being kept in some cave or something—something. Under the Forbidden Forest."

Hermione winced. "Okay, that's a large area, but we can Apparrate. We can't know where their captor might be, so we'll aim for just outside it. This time of night, the reconstruction on Hogwarts will be halted, so we should be safe from being seen."

Orias frowned. "Is she okay to travel like this?"

Lavender answered, not appreciating that he'd not asked her directly. "I'll be fine, let's just—let's just go get our packmates, yeah?"

"Oh, I like it when she's pushy."

Both she-wolves shook their heads as they laughed, answering in the same breath once again. "Shut up."

* * *

Roman had looked up at each of his captives, in turn, before grinning. He'd let out a yawn, turning toward the entrance. His fingers were dripping fresh crimson—hands coated in blood from each of them. If this didn't manage to draw out their she-wolves, nothing would.

Thorfinn couldn't be sure how much time had passed before he started to drift off. He could feel the uncomfortable itching of the wound in his gut stitching itself back together.

After a while, still pushing away his exhaustion, though he had no idea how much longer he could keep this up, he looked across at Greyback. "Where'd he go? Wha's taking him so long?"

Fenrir mumbled, clearly trying to get some rest, himself, despite their dire circumstances. "He may be ancient, and cruel as fuck, but even he needs to sleep, so that's probably where he's gone. Used our blood as a lure, and then found someplace safe to hunker down, where we'd never find him even if we tried to look. Torturing someone can take a lot out of a man."

"Yes, well, I'm sure you'd—"

"Thorfinn!"

The blond werewolf jerked his head toward the cave at that familiar voice. Hermione was barreling through the entrance, another female—obviously the 'quick-kill' Greyback had mentioned—and Mulciber following behind her.  _What the fuck?_  Orias Mulciber? He'd bitten the only Death Eater that towered over Thorfinn, himself? Fucker. He was just trying to build a monster, wasn't he?

"This is a trap, you know."

"Obviously." She shook her head as she crossed to him. "That's why we've got to move quick."

Fenrir looked at the three in a bit of a daze. Having taken the brunt of Roman's  _hospitality_ , he was far more worn out than the pup. He knew that was to blame for the fact that he'd not picked up their scents sooner.

"Oh my God," she breathed out the words with a shake of her head. Though he was healed, the front of his robes hung open in bloodied tatters.

She knew it was a bad idea, but in her relief to find he was okay, she was moving before she could think to stop herself, throwing her arms around his neck and peppering his face with kisses.

"Oy!"

She immediately froze, wincing as she looked back over her shoulder at Lavender and Orias' combined shout. "Sorry. Let's just get them out of here. After we're safe and they've rested, we can ask that one why he did this to us."

"Good plan," Thorfinn said with a nod. "I'm not kidding, Sunshine. This guy is  _dangerous_ , and he's after you and the little blonde over there!"

"What?" she asked, unlocking him and immediately moving to catch him as he staggered on his own two feet. Given their difference in stature, she struggled to stay upright under the weight of his arm.

Groaning as Lavender's quick  _Alohomora_ released his chains, Fenrir slumped to the floor. He answered as a growling and reluctant Mulciber pulled him to his feet and started toward the cave's entrance. "He wants mates. Thought he'd take you two off my hands, didn't seem to like that I refused."

"Okay, save your strength. You can explain later." Hermione shook her head. "Bloody werewolves."

Thorfinn, feeling a bit whimsical with how drained he was, quipped in a tired whisper, "In this case, literally."

They managed to Apparrate back to the hotel room in stunted paths, slowly moving from point to point so as not to wear on their wounded pack mates too much.

As they let Thorfinn and Fenrir collapse to the floor in the quiet privacy of the room, Hermione looked about. "Orias?"

He snapped his gaze to hers at the alarm in her voice.

Fear twisting her features, she asked, "Where the _hell_  is Lavender?"


End file.
